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Dead Frontier/Issue 118
This is Issue #118 of Dead Frontier, titled Are You Afraid of the Dark? ''This is the fourth issue in '''Volume 20.' Issue 118 - Are You Afraid of the Dark? Cole’s eyes open slowly, his vision met with darkness. He tries to look around, but immediately regrets the movement when he feels horrible stabs of pain in his head. He nearly cries out, but holds it back out of intense fear. He presses a hand to his temple and winces, feeling something wet dripping from his head. He moves his jaw tentatively; that fall really did a number on his face. He’s surprised his eyes still haven’t adjusted to the dark, and he makes an attempt to rise. Of course, it’s a failure as his knee holds him back, and he collapses onto his backside again. He then hears a rustling sound to his right, and a laborious groan. Barely, he can see a figure slumped against the wall, hair hanging over her face. “Lucy?” he says breathlessly. He ignores the pain in his leg and scoots over to her. Her head lolls to the side, and he tries to get a good look at her. Her eyes are closed, and he can see some faint bruising on the right side of her face. Dried blood trickles down her chin. How long have they been here? “Can you hear me?” He grabs her by the shoulders, and says a little more forcefully, “Lucy, talk to me.” She mumbles something he can’t understand, but it’s enough for him, knowing she’s alive. “My fucking head…” she mutters after a few seconds. Then, she looks up, and recognition flashes over her face as if this is the first time she’s noticed him. “Where are we?” “I--I don’t know. I just--” He trails off and takes a deep breath to compose himself. “Are you okay?” She nods ‘yes,’ an obvious lie, and tries to rise to her feet. He advises against it, but she persists. It’s a struggle, but she helps him to his feet as well, and afterwards, he leans against the wall, breathing heavily. It’s still too dark to see much, but from what they can tell, it’s a large, barren room. She holds onto his arm as they walk along the perimeter, but even with her assistance, he soon has to take a break. Without his cane, the pain is too much to bear right now, and the pounding in his head is only making his fear and frustration worse. “C’mon,” she urges him gently, and she goes to take another step, but her foot hits something. She looks down and...sees a leg. Her eyes inspect the body from the bottom up, until she reaches their face. She squints, suppresses a gasp, and falls into a crouch. “It’s Chloe,” she says. “Chloe?” She repeats her name a few times, but receives no response. Without warning, a door on the far end of the room opens, and someone walks in, lantern in hand. Cole and Lucy turn, staring at the approaching figure, which suddenly stops a few feet inside. Around the room, they can now see people lie in various states of incapacitation--Duke, Adam, Daniel, Farrah, and Chloe, all bruised, bloodied, and unconscious. Otherwise, the large area is completely empty, besides the few blood stains on the cement. However, as the figure begins walking again, the lantern illuminates some of his features. Dark-skin. Over-sized muscles. A scar across his face. The light accentuates his awful, yellow-toothed grin. “Good evening,” he says. Lucy gets to her feet slowly, and presses her back against the wall. Impulsively, Cole grabs her shaking hand tightly. “It’s okay,” he whispers. “It isn’t,” the man replies quickly, taking a single step forward. There’s a long pause, with only Lucy and Cole’s quivering breaths filling the air. “I’ll be back when your friends wake up.” He begins to turn, but Cole’s voice stops him. “Who--who are you?” Cole asks hesitantly, and he swallows hard afterward. The man freezes mid-turn and once again tortures him with that terrible stare. It almost looks like the question irritates him; his right cheek quivers, and he approaches Cole. Each step is slow and deliberate, and his footsteps, although quiet, seem like an overly-loud pounding in the silence of the room. He gets so close, Cole’s trembling ceases and he squeezes his eyes shut. He can smell the man’s breath, rotten and repulsive, and he breathes right in Cole’s face. “I’ll be back when your friends wake up,” he repeats. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” Cole mutters quickly, and he finally opens his eyes when he hears retreating steps. Soon, the man is gone out the door again, the absence of the lantern refilling the darkness. ---- “They should be back by now,” Lienne mutters mostly to herself, and she paces around the vast living room, chewing on her thumbnail nervously. “They should’ve been back two fucking hours ago,” Hunter retorts from one of the couches, his hands folded behind his head and his feet perched up on the coffee table. Everyone else wears similarly anxious expressions, gathered around the living room. Tora, Cedric, Jake, Ivy, and Dean, who also didn’t attend the supply run, are spread out on the two other couches. “Should we go out and get ‘em?” Cedric asks. “In the dead of the fucking night? No thank you,” Hunter says. “It doesn’t matter what time of the--” Tora starts, but she’s cut off by a sudden loud bang on one of the windows. The glass rattles, and they all flinch. “Jesus.” Hesitantly, Lienne approaches the window. She grabs onto the curtain and looks back at the expectant faces on the couches. Hunter gives her a quick nod, and she flings the curtain to the side. Blood, dark and dripping, is smeared along the window. Besides that, there’s nothing but the swaying of branches from the forest a few meters away. “Is that blood?” Cedric asks, and he takes a few apprehensive steps forward. Lienne gulps and gives a hesitant nod, removing her grip from the curtain and letting it cover the glass. “What the fuck…” “Okay,” Tora says, rising to her feet. She paces around for a few seconds, prepared to say some reassuring words, but she quickly finds herself just as nervous as everyone else. “This is weird.” “Yeah, no shit,” Hunter adds. “Really not the time for your shit, Hunter,” Lienne says. She peeks behing the curtain again and flinches when she sees some slight movement. “Shit...infected.” “How many?” Tora asks. “Uh…” Lienne squints before confirming, “About six. Wait, no--seven. Coming out of the woods.” Immediately, she turns to the coffee table and reaches for the bag sitting atop it. “Who’s coming with me?” She searches through it for a few seconds before pulling out a knife, the blade short and sharp. She waits for an answer until Hunter hops to his feet. He goes for the bag, but freezes mid-reach when there's another bang, this time from the kitchen. Cedric rushes through the kitchen door and emerges from it a few seconds later. "They're on that side, too," he says, and he twists his pinky nervously. The glass rattles constantly, filling the silence as he waits for someone to respond. "How many?" Lienne asks. "About four." Lienne looks to Tora and nods her head. "Come on. Dean, Cedric, stay with Jake and Ivy." ---- The room is almost as dark as it was before, but only thirty minutes pass before everyone was woken up. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” Adam mumbles as Chloe pesters him, both sitting on the uncomfortable cement. His left eye is puffy, and a thin stream of blood has dried on the right side of his face. She can barely remember it, walking through an aisle with Adam behind her. She’d just spotted a can rolling across the tile, eager to pick it up, when she’d heard a thud. Standing where Adam should have been was a man, beard unkempt and hair long to his shoulders. And there was Adam, lying face down on the floor, motionless. She had no time to react before the wooden handle of his knife collided with her temple. “What about you?” Adam asks. The harsh beginnings of a bruise are forming on the side of her head. “I’m okay,” she says, but just the effort of keeping her eyes open is taxing. There’s a long bout of strained silence between them only; the rest of the room bustles with the worried mutters of everyone else, circling the room and checking on others. “I saw the guy,” she says after about a minute. “What?” She takes a quaky breath, and moves her hands around nervously as she speaks. “Th-the guy that hit you. And me. He was--dirty and his eyes looked...dead, almost. A-and, he looked at me like--” She struggles to put his stare into words; it was a chilling mix of absolute hatred and eagerness. She’s never seen anything like it. Before she can continue, someone crouches in front of them. It’s Daniel, holding onto his right arm. “How you guys doing?” Daniel asks, looking between the both of them. “We’re fine,” Adam says. “What happened you?” Daniel passively glances down at his arm. “Some asshole with a beard nicked me with his knife. Thought I could get the upper hand...but nope.” He looks to the ground and gives a slight shake of his head. Pretty wild two weeks: first a plane crash, now kidnapped by an apparent psychopath. He opens his mouth to ask another question but snaps his head around when he hears the low groan of an opening door. The appearance of three figures prompts him to rise to his feet. The each hold a lantern, providing the room with an adequate amount of light. Physically, they’re all completely different. Front and center is the man with the scar; to his right is the bearded man; and the last person is a young woman with blonde hair, a new face to them. Despite that, the look in their eyes is all identical. “''Finally,” says the scarred man. The bearded man lets out a long sigh and licks his lips. “Once upon a time, there was a store,” he begins, cutting to the chase. “And in this store, is where we lived. Under it, there was tons of food, medicine, water--you name it. All locked up tight. One day, we returned to this store and saw a few cars driving away. We didn’t think anything of it--until we saw that 90 percent of our shit had disappeared. Apparently, you thought it was in your power to take what rightfully belonged to someone else--necessities to survive. I hate people like that.” “Oh, ''fuck,” Duke mumbles to himself. “It was easy to follow you. You took the cleared roads, you camped in a house or near the woods--really straightforward. We thought about, you know, killing you and taking everything back. The logical thing.” “But that’s not how we work,” says the scarred man. “This is a lesson. We watched your group tear itself apart; you didn’t know, but we were. And it was great to see--better than television. We couldn’t make it easy for you. It was obvious those supplies belonged to someone else. Yet, you took them anyway. I get it; this is survival. Every man for himself, take care of your own. But that doesn’t only apply to you.” “We might not slaughter you,” the girl says. Her voice is meek, and she sounds almost apologetic, as if being slaughtered is the preferable option. “Not all of you,” the bearded man corrects. “Some of you already bit it." ---- Mae and Tora sit atop the hood of one of the trucks, their feet dangling down. Guns are holstered at their sides, useless in the quiet of the night. They haven’t seen anything for the last hour, and Tora fails to suppress a yawn. “You can get some rest if you want,” Mae suggests. “I can take over for the last hour.” “No, it’s fine. I can hold out a little longer,” Tora says. But, she yawns again and rubs her eyes. “You sure about that?” Tora gives her a grateful smile. “Thanks,” she says, and she slides off the hood. She soon disappears through the front door, and Mae returns her focus to keeping guard. She hasn't heard a peep this entire time, besides the occasional gust of wind. She taps her fingernails along the cold metal of the hood and fights a yawn. Still an hour left, and she doesn't want to give in now. Her eyes suddenly snap open, and she realizes she dozed off for a few precious seconds. "Come on, Mae," she mumbles, rubbing her eyes thoroughly. She decides some water might wake her up a little. She slides off the hood and makes her way around to the front seat. She pops the trunk and heads around back, to piles of bags stacked pyramid-style. She reaches for the top-most one and, blinded in the dark, she moves her hand around until her fingers grasp a warm bottle of water. She's just bringing the bottle to her mouth when she feels something hard collide with the back of her head. The bottle falls to the floor with her, and looking up with dazed eyes, she's sees a small, blonde figure standing above her, a large rock in hand. Mae mutters something, then touches her fingers to the back of her head. She can't feel any blood, which she takes as a good sign. She refuses to let her eyes close as the mysterious figure scurries away, and, using the truck for assistance, she rises to her feet in a struggle. Slowly, she steadies herself and reaches for her side, where her holstered gun should be. A sudden blast of pain leads her to grab her head instead, and she places a palm on the side of the truck to gain her balance once again. She realizes she has to get herself together soon, as a low growl catches her attention. Again, she tries for her holster; but she feels a pair of teeth dig into her neck before she can retrieve it. She lets out a pained moan before collapsing to the ground. The blood in her throat prevents her from calling out, and she uselessly pushes at the infected. It's unable to take more than one bite: someone pulls it away from Mae's body and smashes their boot onto its face. With eyes slowly threatening to close, Mae watches the bottom-half of a figure approach the open trunk and reach a greedy hand into one of the bags. The blonde girl retrieves a single water bottle and opens it slowly. She digs a hand into her pocket and searches around for a few long seconds before retrieving a tiny pill. She twists the cap open, and drops the pill inside, where it fizzes for just an instant before dissolving completely. ---- "Just a thought that popped into my head...but who's up for grabs here?" Hunter asks, sitting with Duke, Dre, and Lienne in one of the trucks. "What do you mean?" Dre asks. "Well, only the women, of course." "...How old are you, bro?" "Thirty three. I'm not a fucking retiree. I'm still functional down there," Hunter says with a smile, slapping Dre on the shoulder. "Shit, man. It's a valid question," Duke says. "You seriously only got chances with Tora and Chloe. What about Farrah, though? What's up with her?" "Oh, Farrah pounces on anything that moves. I've gotten enough of that to last a lifetime." "Might catch something," Lienne says. "Watch out." "Wouldn't be surprised if I did. Girl's got a talent. She's like a...walking, one-woman brothel." Duke laughs loudly, but Hunter is disappointed to see his remark has only elicted small chuckles from Dre and Lienne. Dre shakes his head, but he still has an amused grin on his face as he uncaps his bottle of water and takes a sip. ---- “We weren’t planning on making this easy for you,” the bearded man says. “Why would we?” “We made a mistake!” Cole lashes out at him, but he snaps his mouth shut in regret soon after. “Shut up, bro,” Duke mutters just loud enough for everyone to ear, but the scarred man’s eyes have trained on Cole, and Cole only. “What’s your name, sir?” the bearded man asks quietly. “Cole,” he replies without hesitation. He’s already irritated him enough; might as well answer all of his questions. “Could you stand for me?” Cole hesitates, and the man notes how he looks down at his right leg. “I c-can’t.” “Why not?” “My leg--my knee--it’s messed up.” His change in expression makes clear the sickening idea forming in his head. He walks over and halts in front of Cole, looking down on him. “How’d it happen?” he asks. “Gunshot.” “When?” Cole thinks for a moment. A bead of sweat trickles down the side of his face, and he balls his fists together to conceal the shaking of his hands. “About 6 months ago,” he says. “But you walk.” “W-with a cane, yeah.” “Then why can’t you stand for me?” “Because it fucking hurts, man,” he says with rising frustration. “Cole,” Lucy says in a harsh whisper, and she gives his arm a warning squeeze. He gives her a quick, reassuring glance, and quickly turns his attention back to the man. The silence grows between him and the man, until in an uncontrollable outburst of rage, the man lifts his boot and uses as much force as he can to bring it down on Cole’s right knee. Cole’s vision goes dark as he lets out a wretched scream. He rolls onto his side and brings his knee toward his chest, muttering loud curses through the anguish. The pain is nearly unimaginable, and he gasps for air through the tears. The sweeping glare that passes over them all almost dares someone to come to his aid. No one does. “Vaughn, Olivia--could one you get me the hammer?” the bearded man asks. The scarred man--Vaughn--scurries out the door at his order. Almost as an afterthought, the man adds: “Looks like a fun group.” ---- Lienne leads Hunter and Tora out the front door, each with some kind of weapon in their hand. In their other hand, they each clutch a flashlight; the beam from Lienne’s light shakes noticeably. A couple of quick nods from Hunter dictate where they’re to go, and Tora diverges to the left side of the house with Lienne, and Hunter goes off alone. Lienne has never liked the dark, but now, she has a particularly uneasy feeling. Naturally, she stays close to Tora, who gives off the calm aura she really needs right now. Tora even gives her a comforting glance, and her worries are suppressed for a moment. They turn around the first corner of the house, to the window where the first infected they saw were making their ruckus. However, under the window is a pile of seven corpses, each with an arrow piercing the back of their heads. Tora and Lienne freeze, and Lienne immediately grabs for her arm. Before they can retreat, there’s a small rustle in the trees, and an arrow flies out of the woods. Tora gasps, and when Lienne looks down, she sees it’s pierced her stomach. ---- “Here’s how it’s gonna work today,” says the bearded man. He holds the handle of an overly large sledgehammer in both his hands. The metal head is scratched and tainted with dried blood; he glances at these reminders with a nostalgic expression as he paces slowly around the room. “I have used this thing...countless times. It’s my baby. But I only use it for the worst offenders. And what you people did...that’s low.” “I’ve got a number in my head,” he continues. “Between one and 100. You’re all going to pick one. If you don’t--” He gives the hammer a practice swing and clicks his tongue. “Sayonara. Vaugh, Olivia--keep track.” He points the hammer at Duke first. “You. Go first,” the man says. “This is sick. I’m not doing this shit,” Duke says immediately. “You don’t even know what it’s for.” “I can fucking guess.” The man sets the head of the hammer on the floor and leans against the handle. He stares at Duke incredulously. “Conner,” Vaughn says, a terse warning for him to control his anger. Conner shoots him a look and stands up straight again with the hammer in his hands. “I’ll give you one more chance,” Conner says. “And then you’ve got no chance.” “Just say a number,” Adam says to Duke in a near-shout. Duke sighs, making his reluctance clear, and mutters, “57.” Conner grins contently and makes his way around the room, and eventually, everyone gives in to his game. “5,” Adam says. “92,” Chloe says. “85,” Cole says. “24,” Lucy says. “73,” Daniel says. “65,” Farrah says. “All great guesses,” Conner says. “But the number was sixty.” Duke swallows hard and scoots a little closer to the wall. His eyes lock onto the sledgehammer, but Conner lets out a little laugh. “This isn’t for you,” he says. “You two.” He points to Adam and Lucy, and beckons them to stand with a quick gesture of his hand. They don’t comply. “Based on my count, you’re the farthest off, sorry to say. I’m gonna need you, our winner over here--” Conner says, pointing to Duke. “--to pick one. Who gets the hammer, bud?” “Come on, man,” Duke groans. “No fucking way.” “You can pick one or I do all three of you in--your choice.” There’s a heavy silence as Duke feels all eyes on him. He digs his head into his palms, and the pressure of it all brings him to tears. “N-no, fuck you. I’m not doing it,” Duke spits out. “Just--kill me, man, and we’ll be done.” “I said, pick one. You’re not getting out of this the easy way.” Cole’s hold on Lucy tightens, but his eyes lock with Adam for a long moment. This burdening amount of mental and physical torment has reached its height, and he’s about to speak out on their behalf when another voice rises. “This is--ridiculous,” Chloe blurts out. All astonished faces turn to her, and she swallows hard in hesitation. But she doesn’t back off completely. “Just--kill us and stop playing these stupid games for your own enjoyment. Torturing us isn’t going to help you at all; prolonging this isn’t helping. You said it yourself--this is a game of survival, and maybe you think we’re terrible people for taking your stuff. No one’s denying it. We’ll--we’ll give you back what we have left, and that’ll be it. We’ll...pay you back, whatever you want.” Her words ignite something in him--doubt he doesn’t want to feel. These people deserve a harsher lesson, and the joy he gets out of delivering it is only an added reward. He would have finished this off weeks ago, he admits, if it wasn’t for his few people and limited ammo against their dozen able bodies and adequate firearms. But the torment of these last few weeks--he gets a kick out of it, and abstaining someone of what’s rightfully theirs--what they’ve worked for--he thinks, is worse than this. And she has the audacity to believe returning not even half of what they stole negates everything? Hatred twisting his face, he hones his focus on Chloe and brings the sledgehammer up over his head. 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